by Jill Shalvis
"What—"
"Shh," he said before sliding his arms around her and putting his mouth to hers. She should have known from their earlier encounter he was different. There was no grabbing, no groping, no conquering. Nothing even close. Yes, his arms were strong and firm, but also loose enough she could wriggle free if she wanted to.
She thought about it for all of one second. He was tall, powerfully built, and smelled like heaven. It wasn't often she stood in a man's embrace with every thought draining out of her head, but it happened now as his hands cupped her face, almost reverently, tipping her head for better access.
Oh, yes, better access was good. So good she arched against him. The sound he made low in his throat caused a mirroring one in hers.
At that, the kiss went instantly explosive. His tongue slid home. He hauled her body up against his. And still, she didn't want to be free. The opposite, she realized dimly, snaking her arms around his neck to hold on tight.
With the touch of her fingers on the back of his neck, he groaned, a very erotic sound, and nibbled at her lower lip.
Ohmigod, was all Cassie could think, and then she couldn't have repeated even that. Her knees wobbled; her heart rammed against her ribs as they practically ate each other alive. This … this—whatever it was they were doing to each other—was far more than she had bargained for, and still it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She, a woman who never wanted more from a man. Never.
It took her a moment to realize he'd released her, and that she stood there weaving like a drunk.
"Thank you," he said very politely, in direct contrast to the way he was breathing as if he'd run five miles. Uphill. "That was…"
"Yeah." She licked her lips, tasting him on her. "That was…" Craving his mouth back on hers, she licked her lips again.
He made another rough sound, almost a growl. "Unless you want to extend that price you negotiated, don't."
"Don't…?"
"Don't look at me as if I'm the first one who's ever kissed you stupid. Don't stand there weaving weakly with lust… Ah, hell. Don't even breathe. Yeah, that should do it." He turned from her, shoved his hands through his hair and stared out at the lake.
Shocked, she looked at him. Really looked at him—at his stiff shoulders, his rough breathing—and knew he was as out of control as she was.
And how annoying was it that she no longer wanted him just so that she could cross another item off her revenge list. She wanted him because … well, just because. "It got a little out of hand, that's all."
He shot her a look of disgust over his shoulder. "You think?"
"Yeah."
Before she knew what he was about, he turned, lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. "So it wouldn't, couldn't, happen again, right?"
She barely caught herself from closing her eyes and sighing at the surprising tenderness of his big, warm hand. "Of course not."
"Liar," he whispered softly. Before she could snarl at him for that, he walked away.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Two days later Tag still couldn't get that kiss out of his head. It went with him to work, to play, to bed … and that's where it was the worst. Bed.
He wanted Cassie there with him, he couldn't deny that. He wanted her badly.
But why? She was bad attitude personified. She hated everything about him, his life, his job.
So what did that say about him, being so undeniably attracted to her?
That he was sick, very sick.
But knowing it didn't stop the desire, so that when he walked into his office after a day from hell, desperately in need of coffee and some time off, and saw her standing there in front of his receptionist, his gut took a hungry leap.
He told himself it was simply because she exuded sex appeal and it had been … well, longer than it should have since his last sexual experience.
It was the outfit, he decided. She wore a microskirt the color of a field of daffodils, and a matching zippered crop-top, out of which came two spaghetti straps from what he assumed was a bathing suit worn beneath. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, with strands tumbling free to her shoulders. And then there were her legs—long and toned and bare except for a pair of strappy sandals.
"I was just wondering if the restraining order I took out in New York protects me here," she was saying, and all Tag's lusty thoughts flew right out the window. "Because I've received some more threatening mail and—"
"What restraining order?" Tag asked, moving close. "What threatening mail?" She smelled like coconut oil. He loved coconut oil. Ordering himself not to notice her scent, or to picture what she was obviously dressed for—sunbathing—he looked into her green, green eyes.
"If you don't mind, I'm having a conversation with your receptionist," she said. "A private conversation."
Roxy, who'd been working at the station since his father had been sheriff, shot him a sympathetic look, then turned back to Cassie. "You do have a restraining order already in place? In New York, you said, right? Can you give us the details?"
Cassie glance sideways at Tag. "Us?"
"Well, the sheriff here is really good at what he does," Roxy assured her. "He can help protect you—we just need to know what's going on. We'll need to know who the restraining order is for, what specifically, and any other pertinent details for our records."
"Such as why you didn't tell me when you first hit town," Tag said lightly, not feeling light at all.
Cassie picked up the purse she'd set on the counter.
"You know what? Never mind."
"But—" Roxy made a frustrated sound when Cassie pivoted away and headed toward the door.
"Thanks anyway," Cassie called over her shoulder.
Not even her curvy little ass could sidetrack him now. With one last glance at Roxy, who lifted her shoulders to indicate she knew as much as he did, he followed Cassie.
Who gave no indication that she even noticed.
"Cassie," he said as she strode out of the station and into the early evening.
Her heels clicked on the asphalt. Everyone she passed took a good long second look, both men and women. Some started talking. Cassie didn't so much as look at a single one of them.
"Cassie," he said again, but as she was having no part of him, it left him following her like some damn puppy dog. But she'd tweaked his curiosity—and concern—and if there was anything more dogged than a curious, concerned cop, he didn't know what it was.
At her car, she opened her purse. Slid on sunglasses.
"Cassie."
Pulling out her keys, she opened her door, and would have slid inside if he hadn't put a hand on her waist.
Going still, she stared down at his hand, which looked large and imposing on the paler, softer skin of her very tantalizing middle. "I paid the debt the other night," she said very quietly. "We're even, remember?"
With a rather unprofessional oath, he dropped his hand. "Do you think I care about that?"
"You've got a penis, don't you?"
He sucked in a slow careful breath because something about her stoked his temper every time. "You wanted the teddy bear, I won it for you."
"Thank you Mr. He-Man. And I paid your price."
"That's right," he said, keeping his voice even with effort. "End of story."
"Then why are we still talking about it?"
"Because you brought it up!" Lord, she could try the patience of a saint. He took a deep breath. "I want to hear about the restraining order. About your threatening mail."
"Yeah, well that was a private conversation and you were eavesdropping." But she seemed less hostile now and he forced himself to relax.
Forced himself to be the calm cop he knew he was. And once he did that, he had to admit it bugged the hell out of him that she thought he'd insist on more "payment" for that damn teddy bear.
Had she really never met a guy who didn't want something from her? He knew she didn't have a father around—never had. He k
new what Biff had wanted from her. But what about others? Hadn't there been others? Anyone who'd just been there for her? Given her attitude, he had to doubt it. That thought unsettled him to the core, and if the kiss hadn't so rocked his world, he might have spared a moment to feel guilty he'd asked her for that much.
Then he realized something else, that she was avoiding looking at him, and when he took a good look, he saw why.
She was uncomfortable around him. Interesting. If she'd paid the debt, and it was as over as she'd said, why wouldn't she look at him? "Cassie, talk to me." He paused. "Please."
With an exaggerated sigh, she tipped her head and looked skyward. "You know me. Wild Cassie Tremaine. I go looking for trouble. Just ask anyone."
"Pleasantville isn't Mayberry," Tag said. "We have our fair share of village idiots." With his cousin leading the pack.
"Surely you've heard the stories."
"And I sincerely doubt any of them are true."
Her gaze jerked up to his. Oh, yeah, he'd managed to surprise her. Had no one ever believed in her?
"I'm just having some trouble with an obsessed guy, that's all," she said finally.
"A fan?"
"Sort of."
This he didn't like. He imagined, given her chosen occupation, she faced similar problems all the time. That she actually needed a restraining order was deeply disturbing. "How serious is the trouble?"
She lifted a shoulder and didn't look at him.
"Serious enough for a restraining order." He turned her to face him, left his hands on her bare upper arms because he wanted her unsettled enough to talk. "I can find out with or without you, but I'd rather you tell me."
"It's not that big of a deal." She shrugged him off. "I'm safe here. Nothing bad can happen in Pleasantville, right … Sheriff?"
"Do you have a thing against all cops or just me?"
"Oh, definitely all cops, but especially second generation ones."
It wasn't the first time he'd wondered. "You know my father."
"I grew up here, didn't I? Right here in good old Pleasantville, where, like I said, nothing bad could ever happen." Her laugh didn't convince him, but mostly because it wasn't humor in her eyes now but … hurt? If he had to guess, he'd have said plenty of bad things had happened to her, right here in Pleasantville.
"Look, I just … had a long night last night and got a little spooked. Okay?"
"I can't imagine you being spooked for anything less than a good reason."
"I know. I'm so tough I'd scare away the mob."
She didn't look so tough right now. "Cassie. You're scaring me."
"Look, Pete's just a typical guy. He thought he could have something I didn't want to give him, and he's pissed. He'll get over it."
"Pete. A … lover?"
She ripped off her sunglasses, her eyes gleaming. "None of your damn business. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm headed to the lake for some time alone."
"It's going to be getting dark soon."
"Thanks, Einstein."
He looked into the open convertible. Miss Priss lay asleep on the passenger seat, next to a picnic basket and a book. "The Rogue's Kiss?" he asked in surprise, staring at the historical romance novel with the half-naked guy on the cover.
"Do you think underwear models can't read?"
"You read … romance?"
"Shockers, isn't it?"
What was shocking was the layers to her. Who'd have thought Cassie Tremaine would have a romantic side?
She sank into the car, started it. "Unless you didn't meet your ticket quota for the week, back off. I'd hate to run over those toes on my way outta here."
Risking it, he held open her door. "Is that why you're in town? To get out of the limelight for a while to avoid this guy?"
"I'm in town opening—"
"Bare Essentials. Yeah, yeah." He gripped the hand that would have slid on her sunglasses again. "I'm not buying that anymore, Cassie. You're here because you're scared. How long are you staying?"
"Until I feel like hitting the road again. Now move."
He did, only because he felt the tremble in her fingers and it shocked him. Vulnerability? He'd seen a flash of it before and dismissed it because it was unthinkable. The smart-ass, tough-as-hell Cassie couldn't be vulnerable.
Or was she? He couldn't help but feel that he'd missed something about her. That there was more to the tall, incredibly beautiful, distant woman than she wanted everyone to see.
He watched her peel out of the parking lot, heading toward the lake. It frustrated him that he'd been unable to figure out who the hell she really was.
He went back inside the station, thinking maybe he'd just try harder.
Roxy looked at him with a raised brow. "What's up with the lingerie lady?"
"I haven't a clue."
"You'd better get one."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well…" Roxy glanced at the door, a worried look on her face. "I know people like to whisper about her behind her back, talk about her like she was the wild child from hell all those years ago…"
"And?"
"And I think it was just that … talk. I think she's got guts, coming back here. She holds her head up like it doesn't matter what people say, but…"
He sighed, because Roxy was always like this, always had to be coaxed out of her stories. "But?"
"But she's scared, Sheriff. A woman like that, who's been through so much … she doesn't get scared easily. And yet she is."
Tag thought about that as he changed out of his uniform. As he promised himself pizza and a beer. But then the funniest thing happened.
His car drove to the lake, just as the sun took its final dip beneath the horizon. Bypassing the popular swimming hole, he drove around to the east side, where a quiet bay surrounded by trees and growth made a more private area.
It was where he'd kissed Cassie only a few nights before.
He parked next to the only other car around, a sunshine-yellow Porsche.
It was open and unlocked, and he shook his head. She should be more careful. He stopped to stroke Miss Priss, who stretched, purred, and went right back to sleep on the passenger seat. "If only your mistress was as easy to please," he said, then headed off on the trail down to the beach.
The night was a dark one already, with just a few silvery clouds. The heat from the day hadn't begun to fade, which was why the sound of the water hitting the shore in gentle waves made him yearn to dive in.
The small bay was deserted—unless he counted the sexy mermaid playing around in the water. She popped up about twenty feet out, her back to him. Her long wet hair clung to her shoulders, which gleamed in the meager light. Tipping her head back to the night sky, her eyes were closed, and on her face was an expression he'd never seen before.
Contentment.
Then she bent to dive deep. For a second he had the magnificent view of her backside, and the small patch of wet material dividing the most perfect set of buns he'd ever seen.
Then she was gone.
He stared at the water, waiting for her to surface, and she didn't disappoint. She came up only about five feet out now, and facing him. "I already ate the picnic," she said, treading water.
"I'm not hungry." For food, that is.
Still treading water, she studied him, only her elegant neck and face showing. "You coming in?"
And have that long, sleek, wet body within reach? Slowly he shook his head. "That would be a bad idea."
"No bathing suit, huh?"
"No."
"That can be fixed." She reached behind her back for a moment, then flung something that landed at his feet.
He scooped up two tiny triangles and some string, dangled it from his fingers. Her bikini top.
His mouth went dry.
Then something equally wet hit him in the chest. Catching it with his other hand, he held up … her bottoms. This time it wasn't just his mouth that reacted. "What are you doing?"
"Treading water. Nake
d." She smiled the smile of an angel.
And if he could have, he would have laughed.
"Cassie."
"You sure say my name a lot. Don't worry, slick. Your virtue is safe with me. I just thought I'd put us on even playing ground. You can strip down and come in now.
Hallelujah, cried his body.
Holy shit, cried his mind.
Good thing his mind was in control, barely. "You want me to come in. Without my clothes."
"Unless you want to get them wet."
"I want to talk about your visit to the station. What the hell is going on?"
Instead of answering, she floated on her back for a moment before executing a perfect back somersault. At the flash of generous breasts, then flat belly, then … he nearly swallowed his tongue. Tan lines. She had lots of tan lines.
He loved tan lines. Christ, just shoot him now.
"Are you coming?" she asked when she surfaced. Nearly in his pants. "About the restraining order—"
"I'm tired of shouting."
"So you'll talk to me if I come in."
"You're quick, Tag."
"Uh-huh." He didn't believe her. "Why are you being … nice?"
She blinked at that.
"Is it because I'm not in my uniform?"
Now those eyes chilled and she dipped down to her chin. "Your uniform has nothing to do with this."
"Really?" Ripping his T-shirt over his head, his hands went to the buttons on his Levi's. To hell with being stoic. To hell with restraint. To hell with not taking what he wanted when it was being offered to him. "Then why do you only talk to me when I'm out of it?"
"Because I don't like it?"
He undid his first button, watching her watch him very closely, the desire unmistakable. Good. She wanted him, too. They could scratch this itch and get it the hell out of their way. But he wanted to hear her say it, wanted to hear that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"You look hot." She splashed him, just a little.
And he opened another button. "You want to watch what you start, Cassie."
"Oh, I'm watching." And she was. She hit him with another splash.
Another button.
More desire.
"Get in the water, Tag. Cool off." With that, she allowed the very tips of her breasts to break the surface.
